"The Trouble With Puppies" Log Date: 4/30/99, 5/2/99 Log Cast: Ranjeet, Faanshi, Rabi, Aba (NPC emitted by Rabi) Log Intro: With the death of her heart-mother Ulima and the disappearance of her mistress Kiera as well as Kiera's naraki Murako, Faanshi has been left alone and friendless in Atesh-Gah. It is a state of affairs most disheartening to the young shudra. Although she was often alone when confined in the vara of Clan Sarazen, only recently has she grown to know what it is like to have friendly faces around her on a regular basis -- and thus has she grown to know something of what it is like to be lonely. Afraid even to search out a teacher for her magic -- for Kiera is gone, and the Imphada Aurora who had been asked by the Amir-al to train her has gone to become Empyress of the Empyreans -- Faanshi has begun to try to simultaneously ward off loneliness and practice her power by creeping about Atesh-Gah and healing what creatures do not shy away from her touch: animals and the smallest of small children. One such animal, however, is an enthusiastic young puppy... and with a puppy's loyalty, this little fellow has decided that he positively adores Faanshi and is determined to show it, no matter what trouble it might cause for her... ---------- Courtyard - Atesh-Gah - Haven(#430RJM) If indeed the Hebrew folk of lost Earth are correct in their legends, then this must be the legendary garden from which mankind was expelled. The flat expanse of the great courtyard of Atesh-Gah is covered in the most luxurious grass of bright emerald green, broken only by a cobblestone path for riding and walking to prevent wear upon the lawn. Rich copses of carefully tended wood grow by the walls, lovingly groomed flower gardens acting as a barrier of colour before the rising trees. Perhaps even more relaxing than the sight of the yard are the sensations of it. The lovely scents of flower and tree; honey-suckle, apple blossom, peach, and jasmine; combine with the soft cushion of green grass to provide a sense of peace and harmony that defies the looming sand-hued walls of unbreakable stone. Not even the shadowed maw of the main gate, nor the blocky, unimpressive presence of the impenetrable main keep can overshadow the beauty of this place. Indeed, the stark contrast serves only to enhance it. Contents: Rabi Ranjeet Obvious exits: Fountain Out Entrance Foyer Stables His head dips in assent, Ranjeet murmuring, "Indeed it was Imphada ... and she was most kind. Being that she is also Empyrean, it was unexpected." Tipping his head curiously, his gaze shifting from the tablet to the veiled features before him, Ranj queries, "Would you be offended if I asked you how you lost your voice Imphada ... and who taught you to read and write? It is just such an unexpected talnet for a woman to display ... even for most Varati actually." Summer afternoon, and a breath of fresh air, scented with blossoms and golden with sunlight. After a long morning of chore after chore, errand after errand, the young shudra halfbreed Faanshi is relieved for an opportunity to creep out of the kitchens and take a job that involves getting simply _outside_... even if it _is_ a lowly job like toting a bucket of fertilizer from the stables into the courtyard to be spread among the flower beds. She trudges out of the stable with the weight of a big bucket dragging at her shoulders, her hands in an overlarge pair of ancient gloves clinging for dear life to the bucket's handle. Leaning slightly with her burden, the slender figure in red and blue does her best to go about her task while keeping her eyes on the pavement stones beneath her feet. Rabi nods in agreement. She rubs out the words and a faint ghost of remains beneath the words she writes now, tight and small so they all fit. "I am oft reminded that all thinking beings are ultimately the children of Atar, when someone 'candala' seems Varati -- honorable, or gentle, or thoughtful and true. It is as if I am seeing them grow towards their place in the Grand Plan." She shows this to him, fingers poised to write more, and she is glad for the moment of reflection to consider his second and third questions. A blush like hot bronze dusts her cheekbones, a scattering of warm color above the curve of her veil. She does not meet his eyes although she glances to see when he is done reading, and when he is done she flips the slave over and quickly writes more, the letters tumbling over one another without becoming blurred. "My father, a Calligrapher, taught me in his wisdom. But the family was attacked by a rival clan. I was the only survivor." For a small moment, Ranjeet's gaze grows soft, perhaps wistful? But then it is gone beneath a charming smile and sparkling gaze. "So it is the attack that took your voice from you? Fortunate that you had a father who had the foresight to teach you his craft despite tradition." It is not exactly disapproving, but suggests that perhaps somehow, divinely, her might have known that to teach her would save her life. Perhaps the rationalization makes it easier for the Varati male before her to come to terms with her traditionally forbidden skill. "I too have been exercising the oft forgotten precept of compassion to other races, and have even chatted with many about the patterns of reincarnation, explaining how they may continue to ascend over time." Reaching for another piece of pita and hummus, Ranjeet smiles warmly, adding unexpectedly, "My clan too was overrun by a rival clan many years ago. I too found myself alone in the vast number of varas as I traveled from place to place in search of a new home." There is another creature in the garden, as well: a smallish dog, who comes dashing out from under a bush, ears perked up and eyes alert. At the sight of Faanshi, the creature lets out an ecstatic round of barks and charges off in her direction. From the look of it it is a dog of uncertain breed, with streaks and patches of myriad colors all over its fur, and a long plume of a tail that wags with vehement enthusiasm as it bounds through the courtyard. In seconds it's passed Ranjeet and Rabi, barking all the way, and the startled shudra has barely enough time to put down her bucket before the canine reaches her, doing its level best to leap up into her arms. A flash of green eyes over Faanshi's veil reveals her surprise and dismay, as the girl looks nervously around the area -- has anyone seen her? Long henna-decorated fingers scrub at the slate, both sides, as Rabi listens to Ranjeet speak. She smiles again and again the expression is hidden except for the way that her eyes' shape changes, pressed into happy crescents. She jumps slightly at the sudden sound of the dog, sitting up straight as the little creature scrambles past. /Like Jaimizal,/ she thinks, a silent laugh in her heart. /He sounds bigger than he is./ She watches the dog running towards its goal and smiles gently once more before returning her attention to the man who sits across from her. She begins to write again, carefully now. And she has written this: "I believe I experienced what I did as a test -- the Amir-al himself said to me that I was meant for my Imphadi. Perhaps you, too, were tested, and set on the path that led you here?" Ranjeet does not start with surprise at the sudden barking and rush of the dog, but his gaze does follow it with a frown of perhaps annoyance at the irritating sound. His gaze lands on the figure to whom it is apparently been charmed by, how could it not? But his gaze drifts away from the shudra, wishing only that she would quiet the small thing. Returning his attention to the lady before him. "A test? Which Imphadi were you destined for Imphada? I cannot say what path lead me here ... if the events in my life were a path, then truly, everyone must be following a path. My life does not seem to be one of destiny, merely chance." But the firm confidence that colors most of his words seems to falter for a moment, his eyes flickering with some unspoken thought or image. Yap! Yap yap! Yap yap yap yap! Found her found her found her found her! The little dog, a veritable storm of canine delight, leaps up and down in front of Faanshi, doggie eyes meltingly imploring, until the shudra girl finally gives in and kneels down to give the creature a few gentle strokes and scritches. The dog's tail wags with such force that one would think that the creature is about to lift off the ground sans wings, and as soon as Faanshi's face is in range it promptly tries to smother it in joyous licks. But there's a problem! The girl's veil is in the way! The shudra tries to persuade the little canine to settle down at least a bit, but the creature isn't about to restrain its elation. It gets around the problem of the veil by promptly and playfully seizing it in its teeth and yanking at it -- and when Faanshi squeaks in surprise, flailing at her face in involuntary reaction, the dog interprets this as motivation to Play! It bounds away, tail still wagging for all it's worth, and charges back the way it came. Rabi's eyes take on that crescent shape again. She adds a few more words and blushes again as she does. "Forgive me," is what she writes. "I am Rabi, mahisi to Nayaka al'Faisal Siraj. Do you really think that chance brought you into the circle of the Most High and his family?" She wonders in white on grey. Rabi starts violently as the little puppy bounds back again and this time the tray of food is threatened. Because, after all, the legs of the tray stand are perfect to play 'chase-me' around, right? Rabi hands over the slate, an apologetic look in her eyes, and carefully lifts the tray. She sets it down next to Ranjeet so that he may eat without interruption and so that the food will not become the cobblestones' newest decoration. Rabi crouches down, then, and places her hand firmly on the back of the dog's neck. She does not strike, or pinch, or squeeze. She seeks to calm, though, to quiet the puppy by petting it. She looks over towards the shudra and gestures, beckoning, bidding her approach. Look what it got! Look what it got! A pretty flowy blue thing! Elated with its prize, the puppy does indeed streak dangerously near the food table. Intercepted by Rabi, it yaps delightedly again, wriggling happily under the attentions of her hands, and dropping the seized veil out of its muzzle. "Ohhhhh," moans Faanshi, horrified, but darting over to Rabi and her companion when she catches sight of the beckoning hand. "Please forgive me, imphada, imphadi... I... I have no idea what got into him...." And at the sound of her voice, the dog yaps happily. Rabi retrieves the cloth and sets it up on the bench upon which she so recently had been sitting. A glance is given to Aba's sewing materials and her own black-laquered scribe's kit, but the dog thankfully seems more interested in Faanshi and her voice than in closer temptations. She holds up a hand, a graceful bid for silence. Gently she picks up the wriggling, yapping little beast and holds it out to the shudra. When the dog is taken she sits back down on the bench and smooths out Faanshi's veil on her lap, looking for rips and tears. She leans back and pulls Aba's sewing basket onto the bench beside her. Whatever Ranjeet's reply would have been, whatever answer he would have given to Rabi's question of fate and destiny versus chance is dashed away by the scampering distraction of first the dog and then the shudra that follows behind. His gaze rests briefly upon her features, recognizing the fact that she is a creature of mixed blood. No wonder the loss of her veil shames her so .... With a soft sigh, the Varati tailore replies instead, "It would seem that it is both of our fates to sew for others Imphada .... and if you will forgive me, I should get back to my own work I'm afraid." And with that he rises ... or attempts to. There is a pause midway up as muscles, relaxed from sitting, protest at the sudden movement, causing Ranjeet to grit his teeth before rising up to his full height. The desire to collapse back into the bench was tempting, but to show such weakness? He feigns nonchalant ease, the corners of his mouth curling pleasantly when they would rather be biting out soft angry oaths. "Perhaps we will converse again sometime ... for as long as my services keep me here in Haven." Rabi looks up, abruptly alarmed. She wants to point out his pain, to ask about it. But that would dishonor him and she does not want to do that. She stands quickly, though, blue cloth trapped in the tangle of her fingers, and bows her head in farewell to the tailor. She cannot reply, but the grace of the motion might serve as its own affirmative answer. It is, indeed, rather apparent that the dog's commandeering of her veil causes the shudra deep embarrassment; with the blue silken cloth ripped free from its place, she can be seen to be rather paler than a Varati should be, but more than that cannot be easily gleaned as she hastily bows her head and starts to kneel before the honored persons whose conversation she has apparently disturbed. "Please," she begs softly of Rabi, "do not exert your needle for my... humble..." And with that, Faanshi freezes, the etiquette of kneeling forgotten, her head shooting up. Her green gaze rivets itself upon the man, and a strangled little croak escapes her. One thought fills her mind, driving out all else: this man is in pain. And before she can catch herself, the girl reaches her slender golden hands for Ranjeet's nearest arm. Dismay and compassion and alarm all flood through her face as something swells up fast from within her, flowing out from her fingers and into the frame of the man she's unthinkingly touched. As her hand catches his arm, Ranjeet glances down, his first reaction affront as he jerks to free himself from her touch. So astonished and outraged at her impudence, he does not even sense the talent behind her fingers, though his arm moves with greater ease and flexibility even as he draws away. "Baka!" he barks in disgust, taking a step away from her. But his body unconciously yearns for her touch, torn tissue and strained muscles recognizing her talent even his mind does not. Goodness, is the shudra hurt too? Rabi looks down sharply at the sound that Faanshi makes. What's going on here? It's the expression on Faanshi's face that alarms the Nayaka's woman most, that mixture of emotions, some conflicting. Rabi sucks in her breath, eyes widening. She, too, lacks the ability to sense the girl's talent. She quickly moves forward, resting her hands on the shudra's shoulders, urging her to stillness. She bows her head again, apologizing, even though the shudra isn't of her household. _Oh, Lady of the Dawn, what have I done..._ New horror spills across the shudra's leaf-hued gaze when the tailor pulls away from her. A tiny little wail escapes her, as she pulls back abruptly shaking hands, clenching them to her chest. She staggers a little under Rabi's touch, barely aware now of the other woman save as someone who has served as a second witness to her own impudence. "F-forgive me, imphadi," she whispers, ducking her head, desperate now to find her veil and flee. "I, I only wanted to help... I should have asked... forgive me...!" Frantic now, she sinks to her knees on legs beginning to tremble as her power, denied access to the pain she can sense right in front of her, roils back through her own thin frame. Although her obsequient behavoir is to be expected, the degree to which she cowers and grovels disgusts Ranjeet, his lips curling back with displeasure as his fingers rub idly about where her slender figures had grasped him. Her words make no sense whatsoever, and shaking his head the Varati man takes another step back. He cannot bring himself to either punish her or reassure her, and so turning to Rabi he brings his palms together inclining his head fractionally. "You will forgive me Imphada ... but I have not the time nor the inclination to deal with hysterical shudra." Again his dark eyes drop to the figure quivering upon the ground, his features set dramatically by the frown that sharpens his profile. "Good day to you," he again murmurs to Rabi, turning to circle through the garden to pass by the pair and reach the front gates of Atesh-Gah. A hot bath ... and perhaps he can find a houri or servant to massage the soreness away. Yes, a fine plan, he muses as he makes his way past Faanshi without so much as a second glance. Rabi rises up once more and bows, her eyes remaining downcast. She folds her hands before herself and when the man has gone, she turns to regard Faanshi thoughtfully. No other words does Faanshi utter. Reflexively, she curls her arms about herself, eyes pressed closed against a hot onslaught of tears at her unforgiveable breach of propriety... and a building surge of nausea as she tries to rein in her fractious power, an effort that leaves little ripples in the aether all around her for those with the sensitivity to notice such things. The dog, in the meantime, sensing that something has gone wrong here, lets out a plaintive little whine and tries to climb into the girl's lap. Ranjeet ascends the stairs to Atesh-Gah's sturdy double doors, allowed past by the ever-present Agni-Haidar. Ranjeet has left. There's nothing else to do, really. Rabi sits down and smooths out the veil on her lap once again. She reaches into Aba's basket and fishes around. There, that's the box that contains Aba's collection of threads. She opens it and looks around for an appropriate shade of blue. Faanshi remains there kneeling and shaking for a few moments, trying to regain her composure. She cannot do anything about her tears. But she tries anyway, sniffling and rubbing a bit of her sari across her eyes for a moment or two while the now-anxious puppy busily licks her face, offering canine comfort. At last, however, Faanshi sets the creature down on the ground and pulls herself unsteadily to her feet. "Please, imphada," she whispers mournfully to Rabi, "y-you do not need to fix my veil..." Golden eyes look up through a veil of lashes. Rabi regards the shudra and shakes her head gently. She finds a piece of scrap cloth in Aba's basket and mimes wiping her eyes and nose with it, then holds it out to the girl. By this time she has threaded a needle, and is just preparing to clamp the silk into a hoop; naturally, this operation is held up by the offering of the makeshift handkerchief. Rabi Eyes of warm amber flecked with bright copper-red gaze back from beneath the simple veil, a large square of cloth - sheer blue over a golden cloth that shimmers faintly beneath its cobalt covering - held to her head by a twist of white cord and fastened to her left temple, leaving bare only her eyes and the bridge of her nose. Her skin is a dark, rich, red-brown. The rest of the cloth of her veil billows down over her shoulders and back and chest, partly covering the cobalt blue sari beneath, the long cloth wrapped so as to leave points hanging down as it curls around her body. Another sari is beneath it, forest green, shows faintly through the outer sari's sheerness. The edges of the blue sari are carefully worked in golden needlepoint: the pattern looks like an abstract curling of lines but one familiar with the Varati script - and who take the time to look closer to see beyond the graceful loops and curves, will recognize a prayer to Ushas, the Lady of Dawn. It is a request asking Her to watch over the supplicant's household, to bring it grace and joy, three stanzas in three lines of calligraphy that weave together tightly. The cloth is very fine and well-worked; while not extravagant, it is nonetheless the clothing of a woman of not small status. A blue diamond of modest size graces the middle of her forehead, held in place by a fine chain of spun gold. Her hands, their fingers long and finely muscled, are undecorated and her nails are short but well-kept. That small silent gesture of kindness threatens to dissolve Faanshi's composure all over again, and indeed, as she steals a glance at the mute lady before her, anguished tears still glimmer in her eyes. After the way the tailor had recoiled from her, to see Rabi now holding out that little scrap of cloth strikes the shudra girl as almost too much to easily bear. She swallows hard, and then breathes out, "Thank you, imphada..." A golden hand flits forward, taking the scrap in shaking fingers; the hand then flits back again, as Faanshi strives to avoid touching the lady, even fleetingly. Her head bows again as she dabs the cloth at her eyes. Rabi is no expert at sewing -- Aba is the expert. But she's passably good, and if she takes her time at something she does a reasonable job. But this is simple. She carefully locks the cloth into the hoop. Then, using very small stitches, the sews up the first rip. She makes sure that the knot is on the underside of the cloth -- that is to say, the side that will rest against Faanshi's face. Her brows furrow: if she could speak, she could reassure the girl, or at least explain why she's doing what she's doing. But the can't. When she finishes the first rip she tugs the slate over towards Faanshi and quickly writes out a few words: "Can you read?" They are clean and clear and very simple, and yet the curves and lines are imbdued with the natural, unconscious ease that comes from much practice and talent. She observes the girl as she repositions the veil within the hoop's circle. The puppy huddles up close to Faanshi's feet, whining again, and laying its fluffy little head down upon its front paws. It surveys the two women with a positively limpid gaze; perhaps it's disappointed that its toy has been taken away. Perhaps it's disappointed that Faanshi isn't petting it. Perhaps both. Faanshi, at any rate, peeks uncertainly at the slate when she hears the noise of the chalk upon it, and after a moment she murmurs, "A-a little bit, imphada." Once those words escape her, though, her gaze immediately plummets to her sandals. Rabi's eyes fly open and she stills her hands lest she make a mistake in her sewing. The shudra can /read/? This is nothing short of amazing. /Then again, Auvrey can read, and well too,/ she reminds herself. She sets down the veil and hoop and takes up the slate, brushing it clean so that she can write: "Do not worry about the veil. You live here; you should have a proper veil. I have a duty to help make sure that everything is proper here in the Amir-al's home." The letters are, of necessity, much smaller, but they are still clean and clear. The noises of the chalk coax Faanshi's gaze up again, though apparently she is quite afraid to look all the way up, lest this woman with her chalk and her slate get a good look at her countenance. Still, though, she has to actually _look_ at the slate to see what is written, and so she peeks, revealing enough of her face to show the un-Varati slant of her eyes, the relative pallor of her skin, and the delicacy of the bone structure beneath her flesh. Where many Varati women are finely carved marble, this one seems something more fragile... porcelain, perhaps. Her brow crinkles as she tries to follow the words, and her mouth moves as she tries to sound them out under her breath... but for only a word or two. Once she reads them all, she looks down again uncomfortably, standing there with her head bowed and her arms drawn around herself again. "Th-thank you, imphada," is all she manages to say. Rabi smiles. She scrubs out the slate and writes something else: "he is a cute puppy, but you need to train him better." And she leaves the writing as it is as she goes back to the sewing, quickly closing the next rip. There aren't too many -- the dog's teeth are still so tiny -- and so the job is finished in no time at all. Rabi unclamps the silk and smooths it out again, checking her work. Abashedly, Faanshi admits, "He is not mine, imphada. I just fixed--" And then she cuts herself off, still feeling rather nauseous from the way her blood and her belly still roil from the unused power that had surged up within her... and horrified at the way Ranjeet had shied back from her touch. No, this lady does not need to know what she did for the dog. "I mean... he... follows me, but he is not mine." Rabi hands over the silk. When Faanshi has taken it, she leans over and scrubs the slate clean again. She writes: "teach him even though he is not yours, as I have mended your veil even though you are not mine. In this way we all help the Atesh-Gah to look and behave properly." Again, those slender golden hands flit out like nervous birds to accept the veil. With still uncertain fingers, Faanshi then pulls her sari momentarily down from her head, baring coal-black hair to the sunlight; swiftly, however, she slips the veil's hoop around her head, and returns the sari to its place. "Yes, imphada," she murmurs then, not knowing what else to say. Her odd pale face now once more half-hidden by the veil, with only her green plaintive eyes visible to the eyes of men, she returns her gaze down to the puppy. The little creature wags its tail again, perking up hopefully at the attention, while Faanshi adds in tiny tones, "I-I will do a service for you in repayment for the veil... if there is anything I can do..." Rabi smiles beneath her veil and points to the puppy. Aba returns from the Atesh-Gah, then, casting a long black shadow before her as she approaches. The shadow is more stooped than she is, as if to offer a glimpse of what the future brings. The old woman settles herself on the other side of Rabi, raising her eyebrows at the state of her basket, and Rabi's fingers flash as she explains with quick short gestures long-before established between herself and her servant. Aba bows her head. "Yes, imphada," she says, content, and tidies up the tray with its food and drink, pulling it closer to the Nayaka's woman. She sets up her own sewing, then: embroidery, around the edges of what appears to be a pillowcase. Innocent though Faanshi may be, still, she knows a hint when she sees one. Her head bobs by way of acknowledgement, and she hunkers down to scoop the wriggly little pup up into her arms -- keeping its head away from her restored veil. Then, awkwardly, she drops a curtsey to Rabi, blurting, "I-I should put him back in the kennels... and then return to the garden work... th-thank you..." Rabi turns over the slate and writes something: "To thank me, train the puppy. If you have chores, yes, they should be done. You need not fear me. What is your name?" Rabi touches the slate, pushing it closer to where Faanshi can see it. "Faanshi," comes the timid murmur from the girl in scarlet and blue. "Faanshi Khalida, imphada..." Rabi rubs at the slate. "A wonderful name. I am Rabi. Best do your chores, now, Faanshi." The expression in the woman's eyes is gentle as she regards the girl. Wonderful...? Well, the 'Khalida' part, perhaps. The shudra girl nods shakily, and with another curtsey and with puppy in arm, turns and scurries off as swiftly as propriety will allow. In moments, only a flutter of her dark blue sari and the yapping of the puppy linger behind, before she vanishes entirely into the stables. [End log.]